


Let the Music Play

by KathyG



Series: John Watson's life [21]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Cake, Birthday Fluff, Birthday Party, Birthday Presents, Concerts, Friendship, Gen, Inspired by Fanfiction, No Slash, One Shot, Suits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 11:02:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27969503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathyG/pseuds/KathyG
Summary: In this sequel to“Banking on It,”John’s birthday is approaching.  How will his friends help him to celebrate it?
Relationships: Harry Watson & John Watson, John Watson & Rosamund Mary "Rosie" Watson, Mrs. Hudson & Rosamund Mary "Rosie" Watson, Mycroft Holmes & John Watson, Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson & Rosamund Mary "Rosie" Watson
Series: John Watson's life [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015687
Kudos: 3





	Let the Music Play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sgam76](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgam76/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Long Walk Down a Dusty Road](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14621058) by [sgam76](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgam76/pseuds/sgam76). 



> Thank you, BesleyBean and sgam76, for beta-reading this story for me, and BesleyBean, thank you for suggesting the title! And sgam76, thank you for helping me out with a particular detail I intended for this story.

“Where are we going?” John glared at Sherlock, as the black cab pulled away from 221B Baker Street. “If we’re going on a case, you could tell me!” 

“This is not a case, John.” Sherlock smirked. “We have an appointment with Mycroft.” 

“An appointment to do—what?” 

Sherlock gazed down at his slender fingers. “I think I’ll let Mycroft explain when we meet him.” 

Shaking his head in exasperation, John leaned back against the cab’s vinyl passenger seat and stared out at the rowhouses that they were passing. At least Mrs. Hudson was available to look after Rosie while they were out running this errand, whatever it was. He glanced down at his Dolce & Gabbana cashmere detail jacket. Thankfully, the jacket felt comfortable over his button-down shirt and jumper; since it was early April, it was quite cool outside. Since it had rained during the night, there were puddles on the streets and sidewalks that glistened in the sunlight. 

Eventually, the rows of flats were replaced with shops. Minutes later, as Sherlock and John passed Portman Square, they reached the end of Baker Street and entered Orchard Street. A short time later, they turned left onto the Oxford Street intersection. John shook his head. Where on earth was Sherlock taking him? And why was Mycroft going to meet them there? 

“You’ll know soon, John.” Sherlock’s voice broke into his thoughts. 

John rolled his eyes. “What is it—a surprise?” 

“You could say that.” Sherlock smirked again. 

John shook his head. What kind of surprise could it be? 

Moments later, the cab turned right onto A4201 and then made several additional turns as it headed towards its destination. Sherlock and John sat in silence until the cab eventually turned left onto Savile Row. A short time later, it pulled up in front of No. 15. 

Sherlock and John stepped out of the cab, and Sherlock paid the driver. “What’s going on here?” John asked Sherlock, as the driver pulled out and drove off. “What are we doing here, on Savile Row?” He stared at the shop’s name on the shop window: _‘Henry Poole & Company’._

“I’m the one best able to answer that question.” Mycroft stepped toward them. Gesturing toward the shop window behind him, he said, “I’ve set up an appointment for you, John.” He removed his pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket and glanced at it. 

“An appointment for _me_?” John stared at Mycroft as the latter slipped his watch back into his pocket, and then at the shop. “What’s going on here, Mycroft?” 

“You may remember, when I bought you some dress shirts at Harrods last month, that I told you that we would look for suits another day,” Mycroft reminded him. 

Smiling, John blushed a little. “When you bought me a whole new wardrobe there. Yeah, I remember.” 

“Yes. What I did _not_ tell you was that we were not going to buy you a suit at Harrods.” 

Incredulous, John shook his head. “You mean, you’re going to buy me one _here_?” Mycroft nodded. “Why? And why now?” 

Mycroft gave John his usual little smirk. “You’re the one who arranged for my brother and me to start going out, John, and to have dinner together once a week. And since then, Sherlock and I have been going to concerts, the theatre, operas, and ballet on a regular basis.” 

“Mycroft and I have decided it’s time you started joining us, John,” Sherlock added. “You and Watson are already going with me to our dinners at Mycroft’s. Both of us want you to start going with us to our other venues, too. You will need suitable attire for those events.” 

“You certainly will,” Mycroft added. 

John shook his head, smiling. “I guess that’s what I get for persuading the two of you to start going out on dinner dates.” He looked at Mycroft and furrowed his brow. “But seriously, is this what _you_ want, too, Mycroft? I mean, I can see Sherlock wanting me to come along, but do you feel the same way?” 

“Yes, of course,” Mycroft said. “When Rosamund is old enough, we will introduce her to them, too, but for now, we are going to introduce you to these events. There may be also some daytime events we will all attend that will require that you dress formally. You will need suitable clothes to attend them: white tie, black tie, morning dress, and evening dress suits. And semi-formal suits.” 

“Mycroft and I get our own suits here, John, and the rest of our clothes at Harrods,” Sherlock said. “Now that you’re getting your usual clothes from Harrods, you will henceforth get your suits here, where we get ours.” 

“That’s right. And besides, since your birthday is approaching, this is an early birthday present from me, although I will give you another gift on that day,” Mycroft added. “We are going to have a birthday dinner at the flat and attend a classical concert on the evening of your birthday, John, and you will need a dress suit for that event. Our parents and several of our friends are going to celebrate with us.” 

John gaped at him. “Thanks, Mycroft! That—that is most generous of you.” He frowned. “And speaking of birthdays, what about yours? Yours is on the 12th. That’s just nine days from now.” 

“We’ll have a birthday dinner at his house,” Sherlock said. With a shrug, Mycroft nodded agreement. John made a mental note to buy Mycroft a birthday present. He would have to ask Sherlock what Mycroft would like. 

Sherlock looked at his Rotary watch. “And we’re expected right now, so we’d better go in.” 

With a shrug, John glanced down at his own Rolex watch and accompanied the Holmes brothers into the shop’s entryway, where they turned left to enter a most impressive shop, at which point he paused to gape at the ambience. The shop was lit with chandeliers; against the wall to John’s right, rows of sample luxury suits hung on display in open display cabinets. A light-brown sofa facing the wall opposite from the entrance sat in front of a rectangular coffee table, and two cushioned light-brown chairs sat on each end of the table. Next to the sofa and coffee table stood a large octagon-shaped, two-tiered glass table, with samples of accessories and luxury bags lying neatly folded on the bottom tier for display purposes. Several stands in front of the wall across the room from the entrance, and in open cabinets on that wall, wore sample luxury suits. A dark-green carpet covered the floor, and rows of framed certificates adorned the walls. A heater hummed in the background. Clearly, this was a store where wealthy gentlemen purchased bespoke outfits and accessories; an atmosphere of luxury pervaded the shop. It didn’t surprise John one bit to learn that the Holmeses bought their own suits here; he had known from the beginning that Sherlock had expensive tastes in his clothes, and of course, the suits that Mycroft always wore were much too finely made to buy off the rack in a regular shop. 

John had never owned a bespoke suit in his life; he had bought his two earlier suits second-hand off the rack at a much cheaper shop, and he had rented his wedding suit at another shop shortly before his wedding. John had had to donate his suits along with the rest of his earlier clothes to Oxfam when Mycroft had replaced his entire wardrobe the previous month, after his allergic dermatitis had become such a problem. As he followed Sherlock and Mycroft further into the shop, his shoes making soft thuds on the carpet, he kept turning his head to gape at the sights surrounding him. 

A well-dressed middle-aged man approached the three of them. “Hello, Mr. Holmes,” he greeted Mycroft with a smile. With a grin, he turned to Sherlock. “Mr. Holmes the Younger.” Sherlock snorted. 

“Alexander.” Mycroft smiled as he shook the man’s hand, and Sherlock greeted him. Turning to John, Mycroft said, “This is Dr. John Watson, for whom I’ve set up the appointment.” 

“Hello, Dr. Watson. Alexander Smith, one of Henry Poole & Company’s cutters.” He and John shook hands. “Mr. Holmes tells me he’s brought you here to order you some suits.” 

“Yes. Uh, it—it appears so.” John glanced at Mycroft. 

“Then come with me, Dr. Watson, and we will start the process. Mycroft has told me that you’re to receive a tuxedo, a white-tie suit, a black-tie suit, morning dress, some dress suits, and some semi-formal suits.” 

“Uh, y—yes. He—he told me.” John shook his head in bemusement. Talk about expensive! 

John, Sherlock, and Mycroft followed Alexander into a room in the back of the shop. “Before we begin measurements, Dr. Watson, first we need to decide which materials your suits will be made of. You will need different materials for the different kinds of suits, and some of your accessories will be different, too.” 

John nodded. “I’ll need some assistance there, since the previous suits I owned, I bought off the rack. I’ve never had a bespoke suit.” He clasped his hands behind his back as he spoke. 

“Well, I will be glad to give you all the assistance you’ll need.” Alexander smiled. “Once I’ve measured you, I’ll cut for each of your suits its own paper pattern. I’ll lay that pattern on the suit’s material and chalk around it, and then I’ll cut it and add a suitable material to be its trimming. At that point, I’ll assign the suits to one of our tailors. That tailor will take care of your wardrobe needs as long as you’re a customer here, Dr. Watson.” John nodded. Alexander added, “Since this is your first time here, you will undergo three fittings for each suit before it’s ready to take home. Once you have undergone your final fitting, your suits will be ready to take home, and your tailor will give you instructions as to how to best care for them.” 

“So—three fittings for each suit?” John asked. 

“For this first set of suits, yes.” Alexander nodded. “The good news is, since we will have your measurements and the patterns for your suits on file, any future suits you order here should require only one fitting if all goes well. That will make the process of filling your future orders much quicker.” 

John nodded. That made sense—unless, of course, he gained or lost weight, in which case he would have to be measured again. He cleared his throat. “Well, let’s get started, then.” 

“We’ll begin with the dress suits,” Mycroft told John. “You will need those first. We’ll have the rest of your new suits made when those are finished.” 

John nodded. “All right.” 

“This way, please, Dr. Watson.” Alexander led the way toward another room, which, as John discovered, was filled with numerous fabrics of many textures, designs, and colours. For the next several minutes, he carefully examined the fabrics, running his fingers over their soft, rough, or smooth surfaces. Soon, with Alexander’s help, he chose five fabrics—a charcoal-coloured fabric, a dark-grey fabric, a dark-brown pinstripe fabric, an indigo-blue fabric, and a midnight-blue fabric—and two-piece and three-piece styles were decided upon. 

The next order of business was the measuring process, which John found to be somewhat awkward, since he had never gone through this process before. Fortunately, Alexander was quite skilled at measuring his clients, and he worked quickly and quietly. It didn’t take long for him to finish. John maintained his usual military posture, his shoulders held back and his head up, as Alexander measured him. 

“With your measurements, Dr. Watson, I’ll cut out for you your own personal paper pattern,” he told the doctor, when he had finished. “When I cut out the cloth for your dress suits, I’ll leave a seam allowance so we can alter them at a later date, if the need arises.” 

John thought for a moment and nodded. “Thank you, Alexander. I appreciate this.” 

“When the first of your outfits is ready for your first fitting, I’ll ring you and set up an appointment.” 

John, Sherlock, and Mycroft left the shop, where John noticed that one of Mycroft’s posh black cars was idling next to the kerb, where Andrew waited. “I’ll give you a lift back to Baker Street,” Mycroft told Sherlock and John, and Andrew opened the passenger door for them. 

“So, a dress suit for the concert,” John said, once they were all seated in the car. He leaned back against the comfortable leather passenger seat. 

“That’s right. Several dress suits, to be precise, so you will have the option of selecting one that night. All three of us will be going, along with Mummy and Father and several of our friends, and all of us will be wearing suitable clothes to that event.” Mycroft removed his pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket and glanced down at it, and then leaned back in the front passenger seat, saying nothing further. John nodded, but remained silent. He wondered what else they would be doing on his birthday. 

_My life has changed so much!_ he marvelled for the umpteenth time, as he scratched his right arm. _I’ve moved back to Baker Street—this time, with Rosie; I’ve got a new source of income, a new bank, a new wardrobe, two new watches—_ luxury _watches, no less—new toiletries, and a new wallet—all of them expensive and high quality. And now, I’m going to get new bespoke suits!_ He shook his head in wonder. 

_And it’s not only_ my _life that’s changed drastically. Rosie’s has, too, although she’s too young to be aware of it. The changes in her life started with the death of her mother, and continued with our move to Baker Street after it was renovated. And now I can support her nicely and enrol her in an excellent fee-paying school when she’s old enough. And she’s got her own children’s regular saver account at the same bank where I now have my account!_

John smiled at the memory. After Sherlock and Mycroft had taken him to his appointment with Barclay’s CEO to open his new investment and commercial accounts, he had gone over the information that Cameron Richardson had given him and had decided to open an account for Rosie. At his subsequent appointment with Cameron, with the CEO’s guidance, he had decided upon a children’s regular saver account; as soon as he had opened it, he had deposited £100 in her brand-new account. John fully intended to deposit that same amount every month until Rosie was eighteen, provided that his new investments remained secure, and he did not start losing money. He had no intention of dipping into her account to spend any of her money; it would be hers to spend or save when she turned eighteen. When she was old enough, he also intended to start giving her an allowance, which he would use to teach her to save money. He would give her a piggy bank, starting out, and then when she was 11 years old, he would open for her a savings account at that bank, so that she could start depositing money there. Once she had turned 16, he intended to enrol her in Barclay’s LifeSkills program. In the meantime, John had so much to learn himself, now that Mycroft had invested Mary’s money in secure setups on his behalf. 

_And now, I’m going to start getting new suits from Sherlock and Mycroft’s Savile Row tailor and going with them to the events they like to attend!_ He shook his head, again in wonder, and gazed at the rows of shops whizzing past. _A_ far _cry from the life Harry and I lived, growing up in Chelmsford! Rosie’s life, while she’s growing up, will certainly be a far cry from ours as children._ He furrowed his brow. _When she’s older, I’ll have to make sure she understands that not everybody lives like this, and that I didn’t, when I was her age. I don’t want her taking this lifestyle for granted. When she’s old enough to remember, I intend to take her back to my old house in Chelmsford, and the schools and church I attended, growing up._

**XXXXXXX**

For the next week, John and Sherlock kept busy. Since Mycroft’s birthday was nine days away, Sherlock and John went to an antique store in Covent Garden the next day, to buy him a couple of unique gifts, and John used his new Barclays Premier debit card to pay for the gift that he had chosen for Mycroft. Lestrade called on Sherlock to solve what turned out to be a simple case, and John went to work at King’s Hospital three times that week, as usual. He and Sherlock took care of Rosie. All the while, John wondered how many fittings he was going to end up having to undergo not just for the dress suits that the shop was currently making for him, but for the other suits as well. That would mean returning to Henry Poole & Company for all of those fittings. 

A week after he had been measured for his new suits, John’s mobile phone rang; it was Alexander Smith. It was time for his first fitting. “Sherlock, Alexander Smith rang me,” he said, when he hung up. “I’ve got to go back to Savile Row for my fitting.” 

“Right.” Leaping to his feet, Sherlock texted Mycroft, and then he grabbed his Belstaff coat, and John his cashmere jacket. Picking up Rosie, he followed Sherlock down the stairs and towards Mrs. Hudson’s flat. 

“Mrs. Hudson, I’m due for a fitting at the tailor’s. Would you look after Rosie for me until we get back?” John asked her. 

“Certainly.” Smiling, Mrs. Hudson took the toddler from John’s arms, and the two men left her flat; John glanced down at his Rolex watch as he strode down the hall. Within minutes, one of Mycroft’s expensive black cars pulled up, and Sherlock and John were on their way back to the shop. 

At Henry Poole & Company, Alexander introduced the men to the tailor who was making John’s new suits. He led the men back to the room in the back of the shop. “If you will wait in this room, Dr. Watson, I will bring you the first of your outfits shortly.” John nodded, and the tailor left the room. 

A few minutes later, the tailor returned with a bulging garment bag and handed it to John. “If you’ll step into that dressing room and change into your suit, then come back out here, I’ll determine what alterations need to be made. For the moment, wear only your trousers and dress shirt. I’ll have you put on your waistcoat and suit jacket when it’s time to alter them, too.” 

Nodding, John entered the dressing room and shut the door. He took off his cashmere jacket and hung it on a nearby hook, and then he removed his clothes and laid them on the seat. Taking the suit out of the garment bag, he put on the trousers and the dress shirt, while leaving off the waistcoat and the suit jacket. Afterwards, he put his loafers back on. 

Carrying the waistcoat and suit jacket into the room, John found the tailor waiting with Sherlock and Mycroft. On the tailor’s request, he stepped onto the platform so that the tailor could alter the trouser legs. Minutes passed as the tailor pinned some safety pins around the seam of the bottom of the legs. When he was done altering the trousers, he had John step back down onto the floor, at which point the tailor started altering the dress shirt. John stood completely still, with his back straight and his shoulders squared as usual, except when the tailor asked him to make specific requested movements, such as shaking hands. After the tailor had finished altering the shirt, pinning it as needed, he had John put on the waistcoat, which he spent some more minutes altering and pinning, and then the suit jacket. 

“There.” Stepping back at last, the tailor smiled in satisfaction. “My goal is to make sure that your suits all fit and enhance your posture, Dr. Watson. There will be two more fittings, and when your items are ready for pickup, I will give you instructions as to how to care for them.” 

John nodded. “Will it be necessary to return here for fittings for each one?” He cleared his throat. 

“No.” The tailor shook his head. “Since I will be using the same pattern and measurements for them all, it is only for this dress suit that you will need to be fitted for, and the same pattern and measurements will work for your other dress suits as well. For your other suits, yes, it _will_ be necessary to return for three fittings each, but again, only for one of each kind of suit will you have to come back here for your fittings.” He scratched his neck. “I must go now, Dr. Watson, but Alexander will be on hand to take the suit after you have taken it off. I’ll ring you when it’s time for your second fitting.” 

Smiling, John shook the tailor’s hand. “Thank you.” He returned to the dressing room and changed back into his regular clothes; back out in the room, he handed the suit to Alexander, and then he and the Holmeses left. On the way back to Baker Street, he leaned back against the comfortable leather seat in silence, gazing out the cab window at the rows of shops to his right and thinking intently about the huge changes that had taken place in his life in recent months, and the ones that were pending. When they arrived at Baker Street, he reclaimed Rosie from Mrs. Hudson and accompanied Sherlock upstairs to their flat. 

The week that followed was busy. In addition to looking after Rosie and working at the hospital and with Sherlock on his cases, John went to Dr. Arquette’s London office for his therapy session, which he had on a monthly basis nowadays. On April 12th, Sherlock, John, and Rosie had dinner at Mycroft’s luxurious Kensington townhouse, where Sherlock and John wished him happy birthday and gave him the birthday presents and card that they had gotten for him, along with a gift that Mrs. Hudson had made for him; she, Sherlock, and John had all co-signed the birthday card. Mellie and Siger had already mailed their eldest son a couple of gifts and a card that they had co-signed, which had arrived that morning, and they had rung him to wish him happy birthday earlier that day; Lady Smallwood had given him her own gift and birthday card at Whitehall the day before. The following day, one of Mycroft’s cars took Sherlock and John back to the shop for his second fitting, during which the tailor refined the suit’s amendments and alterations to make sure that it would fit John and feel comfortable, and he checked it for the trousers’ seat, its break over John’s shoes, etc. 

All the while, John wondered what his own birthday was going to be like. He had not attended a concert since he’d been a student at the King Edward VI Grammar School in Chelmsford years before. Since Mycroft, Siger, Mellie, and several of their friends were going to celebrate his birthday with them, and since Mycroft had told him that they would be dining at the flat, it would be interesting to find out what the celebration was going to consist of. John hoped that Sherlock wasn’t going to make himself scarce as he had done during John’s second birthday celebration after he had been invalided out of the army. Since he hadn’t told Sherlock when his birthday was when he’d moved into Baker Street, April 23rd of his first year there had passed without notice, except for a birthday card and a wool jumper he’d received from Harry; he’d kept his card in his second-floor bedroom until he had binned it outside. 

_Sherlock and I never did tell each other when our birthdays are,_ he thought, as he pondered that, one evening. _The only reason he knows when mine is, is because he got hold of a copy of my birth certificate a few months after we became flatmates, and that was after my birthday had come and gone that year. Even though it was Greg who arranged for my birthday to be celebrated the following year, that was only because Sherlock had told him when it was. And even then, he didn’t attend my birthday celebration._ He smiled wryly. _It was a much nicer party than any I’d had in the past. While I was growing up, my birthday celebrations and Harry’s were always sparse, and I didn’t bother telling my mates when my birthday was while I was in the army._

Three days before John’s birthday, Henry Poole & Company called him back for his final fitting. As John stood stock-still on the polished wooden platform and Sherlock and Mycroft watched, the tailor went over the entire suit, piece by piece, to make certain that any final alterations could be made quickly and easily. “Just a few alterations left, and your dress suits will be finished,” he promised. 

John glanced at Sherlock and Mycroft. “Are you working on all of them, then?” 

“All of your dress suits, yes.” The tailor nodded. “We are making all of the same alterations on them all, and all of them are almost finished. Just a few alterations to be done on each, and they’ll be ready for pick-up or delivery. Once I’ve made the final alterations, I’ll make the buttonholes by hand and hand-finish each suit inside and out.” He smiled. “We use only the best trimmings, Dr. Watson, and we use only natural fibres such as hand silks. That ensures the longevity of the suits we make for our customers, and that the finish will not soon wear off.” 

Smiling back, John nodded. “I see.” 

“When will his order be ready for pick-up?” Sherlock asked. 

“If all goes as I expect, they will be ready a few days from now, on the 23rd.” The tailor smiled at John. “I understand that the 23rd is your birthday, Dr. Watson.” 

John smiled again. “Yes, it is.” 

“Well, while it won’t be possible to have all of your new outfits ready by then, your dress suits _will_ be. I’ll ring you when they’re ready.” 

John hopped off the platform. “Thank you.” 

He changed back into his regular clothes, and Mycroft took him and Sherlock back to Baker Street, after which he returned to Whitehall. The next few days were slow, since John was off duty during those days, and Sherlock didn’t have a case. 

When John woke up on his birthday, he lay in bed for a long moment, looking at the golden shafts of sunlight pouring through the window and thinking about the events to come later that day. As soon as he got out of bed, he put on a pair of blue jeans and a light-blue cotton shirt. Over it, he slipped on a navy-blue cashmere jumper, put on a pair of Egyptian cotton socks and a pair of brown leather loafers, and then he slipped his Rolex watch on over his hand. 

When John had finished dressing, he made his bed, and then he strode to Rosie’s bedroom on the other side of the loo, to dress her and take her downstairs. Within minutes, he was carrying the toddler down the stairs to the lounge, where he found Sherlock seated in his black leather chair, reading a book. Mrs. Hudson was in the kitchen, placing a tray with three dishes piled with breakfast food on the wheeled stainless-steel-topped table. 

“Happy birthday, John!” She smiled. “Since this is your birthday, I thought I’d make your breakfast this one time. I’ve made for you a full English, and some scones for Rosie and Sherlock.” 

Setting Rosie in the playpen and entering the kitchen, John hugged her. “Thank you.” 

When breakfast was over, Mrs. Hudson shooed John out of the kitchen and took it upon herself to wash the breakfast dishes. John lifted Rosie out of her high chair and carried her into the lounge; as he set Rosie down on the floor, his mobile phone rang. He picked it up and pressed the button. “John Watson.” 

“Hello, Dr. Watson,” the tailor’s voice said on the other end. “I’m just calling you to tell you that your suits are ready for pickup.” 

John looked at Sherlock. “Thank you. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He hung up. “My suits are ready.” 

Sherlock sent a text to Mycroft; seconds later, he received one in return. “Mycroft is sending a car to pick us up. Since he’s currently at a meeting at Whitehall, he can’t go with us this time.” 

John turned to Mrs. Hudson. “Mrs. Hudson, would you look after Rosie until we get back?” 

“Of course, John.” Mrs. Hudson smiled fondly at him. John and Sherlock left the flat and went downstairs. Minutes later, one of Mycroft’s posh cars pulled up in front of them, and the two men climbed into the leather rear seat. John glanced up at the cloudless sky and then watched the rows of flats and shops they passed as the car took them towards Savile Row. 

When Sherlock and John arrived at Henry Poole & Co., the tailor led them toward the back of the room, where John saw five new dress suits lying on the arm of a cushioned armchair. One of them was charcoal-black, one was grey, one was pinstripe dark brown, one was midnight-blue, and the last suit was indigo blue. Three of the suits were two-piece, and the others were three-piece. Silk pocket squares, boxcloth braces, cufflinks, and silk neckties and bowties all lay arranged on the table next to the chair. Some of the ties were made of satin silk, and the rest were made of fine corded silk. All five of the suits were exquisite. For the next several minutes, the tailor gave John detailed advice as to how best to clean, press, and care for his new outfits. “Your new suits are an investment, Dr. Watson,” he told the doctor. “If you look after them properly, they will last for decades.” 

John nodded. “Yes, I can see that.” 

“I’ll call you in for your next fitting when your next batch is ready,” he promised, and John nodded. “The semi-formal ones are next.” 

Then a couple of the shop’s staff members hung each of the items on a wooden hanger and placed it in its own green luxury suit bag, and they put the accessories in a separate shopping bag. Each suit bag had three zipped pockets—one on the front of the bag and two inside—as well as brown leatherette handles and a raised image of the Henry Poole & Co. logo on the front, directly underneath the front pocket’s zipper, and the shopping bag had the shop’s logo on each side. John and Sherlock carried all of the purchases out to the car and carefully laid them in the boot. When they arrived back at 221B Baker Street, they discovered that Mrs. Hudson had left the flat. However, much to John’s pleasure, Siger and Mellie were seated side by side on the sofa in the lounge, with Rosie perched on Mellie’s lap. Rosie squealed with pleasure at the sight of her daddy. 

“John! I see your new suits are ready,” she said with a pleased smile, rising to her feet and holding Rosie on her hip. 

John nodded. “Yes. The tailor told me he would call me back for my next fitting, since there are still several sets left to make.” He cleared his throat and glanced down at the bags dangling from his hands and Sherlock’s. “He gave me quite a sizable number of instructions for caring for them.” 

“Following those instructions will keep your new suits in good wear for years to come, so I strongly advise you to follow them. Meanwhile, you’ve got the right outfits to wear to tonight’s concert,” Siger told him. “So, you’ll need to decide which to wear.” 

“Since we’ll have a birthday dinner here first, Mycroft has volunteered to have the food catered,” Mellie told them. John smiled at the prospect. “Happy birthday, John.” 

“Thanks, Mellie.” 

Mellie handed Rosie to Siger and took some of the bags from John, and then she followed John and Sherlock upstairs to John’s bedroom, their shoes creaking on the wooden stairs, as they carried his new purchases. The three of them removed them all from the bags, hung the new clothes in John’s wardrobe on their wooden hangers, placed his new accessories in his drawers, and returned downstairs to the lounge. 

The next several hours were quiet, for the most part. John spent time with their visitors, who helped him with the housework. He played with and fed Rosie and watched telly with Siger and Mellie, while Sherlock spent some time on his mobile phone and Rosie played with the toys in her playpen. When John sorted out the mail, he found a birthday card from Gabe Austin, who was currently out of the country. 

At four o’clock, Harry stopped by, to John’s surprise; she was all dressed up. “Sherlock invited me,” she told him, as she handed him a birthday card and a wrapped gift. 

John looked down at them, and then at his older sister. “Thank you, Harry.” 

Harry gestured at the package. “Open it.” 

After laying the present on the coffee table, John opened the envelope and removed the card; he admired its cover and then opened it to read the message inside, including Harry’s birthday wishes. Afterwards, he picked up the gift and ripped the wrapping off to discover that it contained a brand-new hardcover book: _The Lord of the Rings_. 

“Thank you,” he said gratefully. Holding up _The Lord of the Rings_ , he said, “I’ve been meaning to get a copy of this book for a long time now, but the time never seemed right.” He laid the books on the coffee table. 

“I was reading that book the day I was shot,” he explained to the others. “I bought it while I was on leave, before we were deployed to Kandahar, but I was so busy after I purchased the book, I never had a real chance to start reading it till the night before I was shot, which was almost two years later. When time permitted the following afternoon, I picked it up and read it some more.” 

He paused. “I only got to read the first few chapters altogether. Suddenly, Dr. Clancy—he was our consultant surgeon—he came into the barracks and sent Murray and me out on a retrieval mission.” He grimaced. “The mission from which I didn’t return.” He shook his head. “I was in the process of reading Chapter 4 when that happened.” 

John gazed down at the book’s dust cover. “I never had another chance to read any further in that book, because when I was transferred from the field hospital at Bastion to Selly Oak, it wasn’t included with my other things that were sent there.” He snorted as he looked down at _The Hobbit_. “I read _The Hobbit_ as a child, but it wasn’t until I was in the army that I ever began to read its sequel. A sequel I didn’t have a chance to read very far in. It’ll be a real treat to read _The Hobbit_ again, and _The Lord of the Rings_ from start to finish, this time.” He looked at his older sister. “Thanks, Harry.” 

Harry shrugged. “You’re welcome, Johnny. I remembered you telling me, after you were discharged, that you’d just started reading that book when you were shot, and I never saw it among any of your things whenever I came to visit.” 

John nodded. “I’ll have to start over at the beginning, since it’s been so long since I began to read it. And since I only read _The Hobbit_ once as a child, I’ll read it first.” He looked down at _The Lord of the Rings_ again. “This is the 50th-anniversary edition, I see. It came out back in 2005, while I was still a house officer. I’m surprised this edition is still in print.” He opened it and quickly thumbed through its crisp pages, pausing to glance at some of the illustrations as he came to them, and then he laid it on the coffee table, side by side. 

During the next hour, seven more visitors showed up, bearing presents and birthday cards which they set on the coffee table next to John’s new book: Molly, Lestrade, Alistair and Alicia Hardy, and last, Mycroft, Anthea, and Lady Elizabeth Alicia Smallwood, who were followed by a caterer bringing dinner from a posh restaurant that Mycroft, Anthea, and Lady Smallwood all frequented. The scents from the delicious-smelling food wafted into the lounge. The caterer arranged the food on the kitchen table and left. John and Sherlock had already taken the dishes, glasses, and silverware out of the kitchen cabinets and drawers and set them out for their visitors to use. 

“Happy birthday, John,” Mycroft said, as he set his gift and card by the others on the coffee table. 

John nodded. “Thanks, Mycroft.” 

All seven of them were dressed up: Molly in an evening dress similar to the one that she had worn to Sherlock and John’s Christmas party the year that John had moved to 221B; Alicia, Anthea, and Lady Smallwood in their own evening dresses; and Lestrade, Alistair, and Mycroft in dress suits like John's new ones. Molly, Anthea, Lady Smallwood, and Alicia were wearing earrings, and Alicia and Lady Smallwood were also wearing genuine pearl necklaces. 

Minutes later, Mrs. Hudson came upstairs. Except for John and Sherlock, she was the only one who was not dressed up. Since she had volunteered to look after Rosie while the others were at the concert, there would be no need for her to do so. All of them began to help themselves to the food. “I’ll bring up the cake when we’re ready for dessert,” Mrs. Hudson said. 

The food was delicious, and they all chatted as they ate. Because only four people could sit at the kitchen table, John and the Holmeses sat there, and the rest sat in the lounge, eating their dinners on trays. When they had all finished eating, Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock went downstairs to bring up the birthday cake. A few minutes later, they returned, with Sherlock carefully carrying the cake in both hands. It was a large rectangular vanilla cake that she had made from scratch and then decorated; it had a few candles. It looked scrumptious. Sherlock set it on the kitchen table, and Mrs. Hudson bent over to light it. 

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear John. Happy birthday to you,” everyone sang; at that point, John silently made a wish and then blew out the candles. The others clapped. 

“Thank you,” he said, scanning the surrounding faces. Mrs. Hudson cut the cake and gave the first and biggest slice to John, and then she served other slices to the rest of the party. It tasted as scrumptious as it smelled. 

When everyone had finished their slices of cake, Harry gestured toward the pile of gifts. “Come on, Johnny!” she urged. “You’ve already opened my gift, but you have yet to open the others.” 

Laughing, John rose from his chair in the kitchen and crossed the lounge to perch on the edge of the sofa; he leaned forward, his hands clasped in his lap. For a long moment, he scanned the presents on the coffee table, trying to decide which one to open first. He finally started with Mrs. Hudson’s, and after he opened her birthday card and read it aloud to the group, he opened her package to find three pairs of soft wool socks folded inside: one black, one light brown, and one dark blue. 

“I knitted them myself,” Mrs. Hudson told him. “Don’t worry, John, Sherlock and I made sure the yarn was dyed with plant dye, so they won’t cause your feet to itch or break out.” 

John smiled at her. “Thanks, Mrs. Hudson. On cold days, I’m sure they’ll be most comfortable.” He gave Sherlock a smile of thanks, and Sherlock nodded. 

John chose Lestrade’s present next. He picked up the birthday card, opened it to see what it said inside, and smiled his thanks as he held it up for the others to see. Then he unwrapped the gift to find a light blue leather-covered journal with an accompanying expensive ballpoint pen. 

“Thanks, Greg.” Smiling, John held the journal and pen up for everyone to see. 

“Since you find it helpful to take notes at crime scenes, I thought you’d find a journal useful for that purpose,” Lestrade said. His eyes twinkling, he added, “Since we all know how bad you are at typing.” 

With a laugh, John nodded agreement. “Too true! And indeed, I will. Thanks.” 

He selected Molly’s after that and slid the card out of the envelope. He smiled as he opened it, read the inside, and then showed it to the others. Afterwards, he slowly ripped off the gift’s wrapping paper. Inside was a box containing a black digital recorder with an accompanying USB cord and an earpiece. 

“I think you’ll find it helpful,” Molly said. “When you and Sherlock are interviewing clients, you’ll be able to use that recorder to tape their interviews.” 

“Yes, for that, it’ll certainly come in handy.” John smiled at her. “Thanks, Molly.” 

Choosing Anthea’s present next, he opened her card and showed it to the group. He then opened her package to discover a paperback book inside, an Agatha Christie novel: _The Mystery of the Blue Train_. He smiled. Before the brutal attempt on his life the year before, John had never read Agatha Christie, but during his lengthy convalescence, Sherlock had bought for him a copy of Christie’s _Murder on the Orient Express_ , which he had read more than once. Since then, he had purchased and read several more of her mystery novels—her first seven, so far—and he had enjoyed them all. 

“Thanks, Anthea,” he said. “I’ll enjoy reading this.” He stacked the two Tolkien novels and laid the Agatha Christie book on top of _The Hobbit_. 

John decided to open Siger and Mellie’s card and gift next. The card, as he discovered, had been signed by both of them. “Mellie and I are giving you three gifts, John. We decided to share one of the gifts we were going to give you, so we shared the card as well,” Siger told him, and he gestured towards his wife, who nodded agreement. 

Nodding in his turn, John picked up the rather bulky package and unwrapped it, and then opened the box. Inside was a black cashmere overcoat; its neckline was trimmed with soft fur. 

“It was made by Canali,” Mellie told him. “It’s lined with cupro, which is quite soft to the touch. And since it’s dyed with plant dyes, it won’t trigger your allergies.” 

John nodded, moved. “Th—thank you. Both of you.” He cleared his throat. 

“Try it on,” Siger urged him. “We need to be sure it fits.” 

Nodding, John slipped his arms through the coat’s sleeves and wrapped it in front of him, buttoning it. It fit perfectly, hanging below his hips, and it felt so comfortable. And Mellie was right: the cupro lining did indeed feel quite soft, and smooth, too. Unlike his jackets, the coat only had two pockets, but he didn’t expect to need to carry as many supplies when wearing it as he would on other occasions. He could always wear his Dolce & Gabanna cashmere jacket when he was out on a case with Sherlock; it was thick enough to keep him warm on those occasions. 

“John, you look so nice in it,” Mrs. Hudson cooed, beaming. 

“And it will be perfect for keeping warm inside, this evening, when we go to the concert,” Sherlock added. “However, you will have to check it when we arrive there.” Nodding, John removed it and laid it next to him on the sofa. 

John decided to open the gift from Siger next. Inside the cardboard box was one of Siger’s little automatons—a tiny car. With a smile, he held it up so everyone could see it. “Thanks, Siger.” He smiled at it, and then back at Siger. Sherlock owned several of his father’s automatons, but this was the first one that John had ever received. 

Chuckling, Siger nodded. “There’s a tiny switch on the side, John. Set it on the edge of the table, facing the other edge, and flip the switch.” With a nod, John did as he was told, and immediately, the car started moving towards the other end of the table. John caught it before it reached the edge and flipped the switch off. 

“Thanks,” he said again. Setting the car next to his other opened gifts and turning to the package that had Mellie’s name on it, he unwrapped it. Inside were dozen socks in an array of bright colours. 

“Your neutral-coloured socks are suitable for wearing with any outfit you choose,” Mellie said. “These socks, you can colour-coordinate with some of your more brightly-coloured clothes.” 

John nodded. “Yes, I can. Thanks, Mellie.” He smiled at her. 

He decided to open Lady Smallwood’s next. After he had opened, read, and showed off her birthday card, he unwrapped her present and opened the cardboard box. Inside was a long-sleeved white tailored casual shirt, made of 100% linen and flax. John looked at the tag inside; the shirt had been made by Zilli, and it was in his size. 

“Thank you, my lady,” he told the aristocratic lady. Lady Smallwood smiled. 

“It’s my pleasure,” she said. “Mycroft told me about your skin allergy, so I made sure it was plant-dyed. And happy birthday, John.” John smiled back; removing the shirt out of the box, he held it up against him for everyone to see. It felt smooth and silky to the touch. Afterwards, he folded the shirt and laid it on the coffee table. He would hang it up when he went upstairs to change his clothes. When time permitted, he would try it on to make sure that it fit. 

Picking up one of the remaining three gifts and its accompanying birthday card, he noticed that the gift and card both had Alistair and Alicia’s names on them; like the card and gift from Siger and Mellie, the ones he intended to open next were joint presents. He opened the card, read it, and showed it to the others before laying it on the coffee table; he then picked up the gift. Upon unwrapping it, he found an old diary with a light brown soft leather cover. John opened it to discover that it had the name, _‘Sir James Arthur Hanbury, Principle Medical Officer,’_ ***** written in cursive on the inside cover in black ink. 

_It must have been written with a fountain pen,_ John thought, as he gazed down at the now-faded handwriting. _Handwriting from a ballpoint pen wouldn’t look like that._

“We purchased that diary from an antique manuscripts dealer, John,” Alistair told him. “Sir James Hanbury was the Principal Medical Officer on the march to Kandahar in the Second Afghan War. He eventually became Surgeon Major to the armed forces in Madras before he retired.” 

Nodding, John quickly glanced at the first entry in that journal and then looked up at Alistair and Alicia. “Thank you. Thank you so much, both of you. This looks very interesting.” He laid it on the coffee table with the other gifts. He fully intended to start reading it and the two novels the first chance he got. 

Sherlock picked up the journal and opened it, looking down at the handwriting. “You’re right,” he told John, with a flash of pride in his eyes as he looked at his flatmate. “This _was_ written with a fountain pen.” John smiled sheepishly. He might have known that Sherlock had known what he was thinking. 

All that remained was to open Sherlock and Mycroft’s gifts. John decided to open Sherlock’s next. First, he opened Sherlock’s card, read it, and showed it to the others. As soon as he had finished unwrapping Sherlock’s present and opening the box, he stared at Sherlock, furrowing his brow in puzzlement. “Another watch?” 

Sherlock smirked. “You now have one watch for everyday wear, and another to wear when helping me solve a case. What you _haven’t_ had is a suitable dress watch for special occasions. Well, now you do.” He pointed at the watch. “The one you’re holding is a Cartier 18k Rose Gold & Diamond Tank Anglaise. You will need it when attending formal occasions, John.” 

With a slight nod, John gazed down at the watch. It was a luxury watch like the other two that he now owned, and it was obviously fancy. It was clearly not something to wear around the flat or out on cases, or when he was working at the hospital. As Sherlock had just said, it was made of rose gold, and it had a rectangular face and case, and a diamond bezel. Each vertical end of the case contained two rows of diamonds ( _Real diamonds like the ones on my Rolex watch?_ John wondered, as he looked from the new watch to his Rolex watch) that ran the full length of the case, from top to bottom. The watch face underneath the crystal glass cover was made of silver lacquer, with blue hour, minute, and second hands. 

In addition to the time, which was told with Roman numerals, the watch also had a calendar consisting solely of the date, not the day, month, or year. It was set to the correct date and time. 

“It will fit your wrist,” Sherlock told him. “I made sure of that when I purchased it. It’s water-resistant down to 100 feet. Try it on now, John. Since you’ll be wearing it to the concert tonight, anyway, you may as well go ahead and wear it starting now. And yes, those are real diamonds lining the sides of the bezel, just like the ones on your Rolex watch.” He smirked, and John shook his head. Once again, Sherlock had deduced what he was thinking. 

With a shrug, John removed his Rolex watch, laid it on the coffee table, and put on the new Cartier watch. Sure enough, it fit nicely, and it really was a lovely watch. He smiled. “Thanks, Sherlock.” 

All that remained was to open Mycroft’s present. It was large and rectangular; however, it didn’t feel like a shirt box when he ran his hand over it. John wondered if it was a board game; before he could find out, though, he first needed to open Mycroft’s card. As soon as he had read it and showed it to the others, he picked up Mycroft’s gift. As he unwrapped it and opened the box, it didn’t take long to find out. Inside was a most elegant chess set. The gameboard was made of marble, and the chess pieces were all made of crystal. The crystal kings and queens had been crowned with what appeared to be gold. 

“Hand-applied gold,” Mycroft told him. “The kings and queens are all crowned with hand-applied gold, John. And the gameboard is made out of Carrara marble.” 

John picked up one of the chest pieces and held it up, gazing at it. “It’s—very lovely. Quite elegant.” 

“ _And_ quite useful for improving your chess game,” Sherlock told him. “Your skill has risen well above not-quite hopeless by now, but it could use further improvement, John. With this chess set, you’ll have the chance to improve it much further in the months to come.” 

John laid the game piece back in the box and set the box on the coffee table. “Yeah, I—I expect I will.” He looked at Mycroft. “Thank you, Mycroft.” He knew that the only reason that the rise in his chess skills had come about was because of the many educational rounds of chess that Sherlock and Mycroft had insisted on playing with John during the months that he had spent recovering from his injuries the year before. It sounded as if there were going to be many more such rounds in his future—at least, with Sherlock, anyway. 

Mycroft removed his pocket watch out of his vest pocket and glanced at it as it gleamed in the lamplight. “And now, it’s time for the two of you to change clothes.” He looked from Sherlock to John as he spoke. Rising to his feet, Sherlock strode towards his bedroom in the back of the flat, and John hurried upstairs to his own, draping his new shirt over his arm. 

Upon entering his bedroom, John flipped the light switch. Opening his wardrobe, John hung up his new linen shirt and then spent the next few minutes examining his newly made suit jackets, waistcoats, and trousers, before he decided to wear his new dark-blue two-piece dress suit. Since his new shirt was a casual shirt, he wouldn’t wear it to the concert. Taking the suit jacket and trousers off of their wooden hangers and removing them from the closet, he laid them on his bed, followed by a light-blue linen-and-flax dress shirt. Then he took out his pair of black leather Oxford brogues. Opening his dresser, he took out of the top three drawers a navy-blue satin silk tie that was dotted with white polka-dots, a snow-white silk pocket square, and a pair of blue silk socks, and laid them on the bed next to his suit. 

Someone knocked on his door. “May I come in?” It was Siger’s voice. 

“Yes, come in,” John called. The door swung open, and Siger stepped in. 

“I thought you could use some help,” he said. 

John nodded ruefully. “To be honest, Siger, I could. Something tells me this is going to be a bit more complicated than putting on the suits I owned before.” 

Siger nodded. “I’ll give you a hand.” He gazed down at the parts of the suit that lay scattered on the full-size bed and smiled. “I think you’ve made a good choice for this evening, John.” With a nod, John smiled his thanks. 

Between the two of them, it only took minutes for John to change into his new outfit. By himself, he donned the trousers, dress shirt, and suit jacket, and then he perched on the edge of his bed to pull his silk socks up over his ankles and put on his Oxford brogues; afterwards, rising to his feet, he fastened his belt and his tie. Siger helped him to position the pocket square in his suit jacket pocket, and then he made sure that the tie was straight. When they were finished, Siger stepped back and looked at the doctor with satisfaction. 

“Well, John,” he said, “you look very nice.” 

John smiled. “Thank you.” He held up his left wrist and glanced down at the time on his new Cartier dress watch as it gleamed in the light. “Guess we’d better be on our way, hadn’t we?” 

“Yes.” 

Turning the light off as he left his bedroom, John followed Siger down the stairs and back into the lounge; everyone gazed at him with admiration and approval as he entered the room. “Whoa!” Harry said, gaping at him. “You’re looking pretty sharp, little brother.” 

John grinned. “Thanks, Harry. You don’t look so bad, yourself.” 

“John, you look so nice,” Mellie said approvingly, and John smiled his thanks. 

“You certainly do,” Mrs. Hudson crooned, and flicked some lint off his suit jacket. 

John picked up his new overcoat and put it on, and then he picked up Rosie and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for looking after her, Mrs. Hudson,” he said, as he handed his daughter to her. “I wish you could come with us.” 

Mrs. Hudson smiled. “That’s all right, John. Classical music’s not really my cup of tea, anyway, and besides, someone has to look after Rosie.” 

“Well, I thank you, anyway.” John made a mental note to stop at a gift shop, to buy her some chocolates as a thank-you gift. 

John and the others left the flat and went downstairs and out the front door, where they found three of Mycroft’s black cars waiting for them next to the kerb. Since it was night, the half-moon hung in the sky above the rows of flats across the street, and the stars glittered. John, Sherlock, Mycroft, Mellie, and Siger got into the first car; Greg, Molly, Harry, and Lady Smallwood got into the second car; and the Hardys got into the third. 

“Where are we going?” John asked, as the front car pulled away from the pavement, followed by the other two. “I mean, I know what event we’re going to, but where’s it going to be held?” 

“We’re going to the Royal Albert Hall,” Mycroft said. “We’re going to attend a classical gala there, where a variety of works from various classical artists will be played by the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. I reserved a few private boxes for us all when I purchased our tickets.” John leaned back against the comfortable cushioned passenger seat, pondering what Mycroft had said. 

Half an hour later, the three cars turned onto Kensington Gore, which was on the south side of Hyde Park. Minutes later, they pulled up in front of the Royal Albert Hall. John looked up at it as he and the others stepped out of the front car. He had seen the building on previous occasions, in passing, but he had never entered it before. Built mainly of red bricks, the Royal Albert Hall was shaped like a huge circle that had been built upwards in layers, with each layer a little smaller than the one directly below. A glass dome topped the roof. 

As soon as they were all together, Mycroft and Sherlock led the others into the building, where Mycroft led the way to the Coat Check room near the front door. It was a small, narrow room with hanging racks and shelves; there, an attendant took their coats and gave Mycroft a numbered receipt. Afterward, he led everyone towards the ticket counter and handed the box office attendant their tickets; the attendant gave him a sheet of paper listing their seating arrangements and 11 copies of the concert programme. After Mycroft had handed each member of their party his or her copy of the programme, he and Sherlock led the way upstairs onto the first floor, where they strode down the hall till Mycroft stopped in front of one of the doors and checked its number, and then the two doors sandwiching it. 

“Your box is next to ours, on our right,” he told Lestrade, Molly, and Harry. To Lady Smallwood, Alistair, and Alicia, he added, “Yours is on our left.” They all nodded and entered the doors on both sides of the one that the Holmeses and John stood in front of. 

Mycroft opened the door into what appeared to be a room. As John followed his flatmate and Mycroft into that room, followed by Siger and Mellie, he immediately discovered that even though it was, in fact, a room, only three of its sides were walled in. In the front, it had a balcony directly across the box from the back door, from which they could plainly see other members of the audience taking their seats on the ground floor below. The wall in which their box was located was directly across the huge amphitheatre-shaped auditorium from the concert stage. Three bright red cushioned seats sat in a row at the front, and two more sat in a row behind them—all of which faced the balcony—and bright orange curtains were fastened to the balcony’s edges. Bright lights flooded the entire auditorium. 

As the guest of honour, John was permitted to take one of the chairs in the front row, between Sherlock and Mycroft; Siger and Mellie sat in the two chairs behind them. Greg, Molly, and Harry took the front chairs in the box next to theirs, on their right; Alistair, Alicia, and Lady Smallwood took the front chairs in the box to their left. Leaning back in his comfortable cushioned chair and holding his copy of the programme in his lap, John scanned the entire auditorium; a moment later, as he bent forward and craned his neck to look upward, he noticed a number of discs hanging from the ceiling. 

“Those are called acoustic diffusing discs,” Mycroft broke into his thoughts. “Acoustics was a real problem in this building until they were hung from the ceiling. They’re made of fibreglass, and their purpose is to ensure that everyone in the auditorium can hear plainly what is taking place on the stage, _and_ without echoes.” John nodded. In a building that huge, the acoustics would have been a problem otherwise. 

He leaned back again and finished his scan of the auditorium. Crowds of customers had already taken their red cushioned seats facing the stage on the ground floor, and more were joining them; others were taking their seats in some of the other private boxes lining the circular wall. Three rows of boxes lined the wall, as John noticed, and members of the audience had already taken their seats in quite a number of them. Some of the red cushioned chairs on the ground floor sat in straight rows facing the stage; the rest of the chairs sat above the ground floor in circular rows lining the edge of the auditorium, arranged as they would be in a sports event, with each row just above the row in front of it. Bending forward to get a better look, John wondered how many rows of seats circled and lined the edge of the auditorium. 

“Ten,” Sherlock said suddenly. “There are 10 circular rows of seats surrounding the rows of seats on the ground floor. And, of course, the three rows of boxes line the walls above them.” 

John peered down at the circular rows of seats, and then at the three rows of boxes lining the circular wall all around them. He nodded. “So there are.” 

Leaning back in his chair once again, he held his programme up and read it, to find out what the concert was going to consist of. Most of the pieces that were going to be played would consist of classical works by Handel, Bach, Tchaikovsky, Beethoven, and Mozart, but there would also be mixed in with them a light sprinkling of musical sequences from a couple of the operettas by Gilbert and Sullivan. 

A few minutes later, the entire auditorium darkened, a sign that the concert was getting ready to begin; John laid his programme on his lap and relaxed, resting his hands in his lap. A mixture of blue-and-white floodlights suddenly switched on from above the stage, illuminating it as the curtains drew back, revealing the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. John leaned back in his chair, waiting for the concert to begin. 

The first piece that the symphony musicians all played was _Arrival of the Queen of Sheba_ , from the English oratorio, _Solomon_ , by Handel. John immediately recognized that piece; it had been played at Crumpet Hardy’s christening the year before. Without turning his head, he gave Alistair and Alicia a sidelong glance and then turned his attention back to the orchestra. 

For the next few hours, the symphony orchestra played a variety of classical pieces. In the process, they played sequences and movements from Handel’s _Solomon_ , from a few of Bach’s _Brandenberg Concertos_ , from Tchaikovsky’s _Swan Lake_ , from Beethoven’s fifth and ninth symphonies, and from Mozart’s _Symphony No. 30_ , as well as the overture from Mozart’s opera, _The Marriage of Figaro_. 

All the while, mixed in with the classical numbers were several songs from Gilbert and Sullivan’s _The Pirates of Penzance_ and _The Mikado_ , all of which were sung by the symphony chorus: “Pour, oh Pour, the Pirate Sherry,” “How Beautifully Blue the Sky,” “Now for the Pirates’ Lair!”, “Our Great Mikado, Virtuous Man,” “Three Little Maids from School Are We,” and “A More Humane Mikado.” After several classical numbers had been played, the orchestra members would play one of the operetta songs by Gilbert and Sullivan, and then they would play several more classical pieces before playing another Gilbert and Sullivan song. And so on. 

Throughout the concert, while sitting relaxed in his cushioned chair between Sherlock and Mycroft, John listened attentively to the music and the opera singers and watched the orchestra members, spellbound. He lost all track of time as the concert continued. Even though, as a boy, he had been required to play classical music numbers as well as more modern songs while learning to play the clarinet at KEGS, even though he and the other orchestra players had played some classical numbers along with other kinds of music at school concerts during his years in the KEGS junior and senior orchestras, and even though he and the other school orchestra members had attended some classical concerts as well as some concerts playing modern music at concert halls in Chelmsford, it was really thanks to Sherlock that John had received a thorough education in classical music, since that was what Sherlock liked most to play. He and Harry had grown up listening to pop music on the wireless, and their late parents had not been fond of classical music. John himself had not been particularly fond of it, growing up, and neither had Harry. It had been a very different story for the Holmes family, he knew. 

Finally, the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra stopped playing, and the curtains dropped back down, covering the stage. The lights illuminating the auditorium came back on. John smiled as he and the others rose to their feet. 

“That was lovely,” he told Sherlock and Mycroft. “Thank you.” 

“This is only the beginning, John,” Mycroft told him. “As I told you earlier, Sherlock and I are going to start taking you out with us when we go out on our dinner dates. Not just to concerts, but to plays, ballets, and opera, too.” 

Sherlock nodded agreement. “You will need the appropriate attire when we go out.” 

John shook his head. “I certainly _will_ need to, if I’m gonna be going to events like this one!” 

“We’ll introduce Rosie to them when she’s older,” Mellie told him. “There will be some that will be suitable for a child to watch.” 

“Like _The Nutcracker_ ,” John said, with a nod. 

“And _The Sleeping Beauty_ ballet. And _Amahl and the Night Visitors_ , and _Hansel and Gretel_. And plays suitable for children,” Siger added. “And since, thanks to Sherlock, she’s already receiving a thorough exposure to classical music, there will come a time when she’ll be ready to start going to classical concerts as well.” 

John looked at Sherlock and nodded agreement. Rosie would most likely be ready to start attending such concerts at a younger age than most children were. He strongly suspected that if she showed any interest, Sherlock would buy her a tiny violin to give her lessons on when she was four or five years old. He scratched the back of his neck as he and the Holmeses strode toward the door. 

They joined the others back out in the hall and reclaimed their coats. At John’s request, they stopped by the Royal Albert Hall’s gift shop, where John bought a box of chocolates to take home to Mrs. Hudson. At that point, they left the building, where the three cars were waiting for them; John glanced up at the glittering stars dotting the black sky and the half-moon that had risen higher into the sky since they had left for the concert earlier. They returned to Baker Street, where Mycroft’s drivers pulled up to the kerb. 

“Wait here,” Mycroft told his driver, who nodded. All of them went upstairs to the flat, where they found Mrs. Hudson waiting. The coffee table was empty, John noticed. He gave Mrs. Hudson the chocolates, and she thanked him. 

“Thank you,” John told the others gratefully. “I’ve really enjoyed this birthday celebration.” 

“It was our pleasure,” Mycroft told him, and the others nodded agreement, smiling. 

Clearing his throat, John turned to Mrs. Hudson. “Where’s Rosie?” 

“Upstairs, asleep,” she told him. “I’ve already taken your gifts and your other watch upstairs to your room.” John nodded his thanks. 

“We’ll play a game of chess tomorrow,” Sherlock told him. “With your new chess set.” 

John nodded. “OK. I’ll look forward to it.” Their visitors left, and the stairs creaked as John went upstairs to change out of his dress suit and put the rest of his birthday presents away. He still needed to try on his new linen shirt, and then he wanted to do some reading before he went to bed. He knew just what he was going to read that night.

**Author's Note:**

> The Hardys, Dr. Arquette, Gabe Austin, and Mycroft’s driver, Andrew, were borrowed from sgam76’s [“Scheherezade”](https://archiveofourown.org/series/559688) universe. If you want to read about the christening of Cecilia “Crumpet” Hardy, read the final chapter of sgam76’s great story, [“A Long Walk Down a Dusty Road”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14621058/chapters/33789738). Better yet, if you haven't yet done so, read the entire story!
> 
> *Sir James Arthur Hanbury was a real-life army surgeon in the Second Anglo-Afghan War, but whether he did, in fact, keep a diary is something I have not been able to find out. But since it was common for educated men during the Victorian era to keep journals, I am assuming that Sir James must have done the same. That a British army doctor might have kept one was sgam76’s idea, for which I thank her!
> 
> In the [final chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14621058/chapters/52046953) of "A Long Walk," John sets up dinner dates for Sherlock and Mycroft.


End file.
